Chorus of the Dead

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Rash and undutiful:

Past all dishonour,

Josephine's body lay like the china doll Ainsley's sister, Margaret, had once received at Christmas. In its white box, the doll had been laid on a cushion of billowing white satin, a small pillow propping up her head as streams of long blond curls cascaded down the sides of her pale face. Her rose coloured lips revealing the slightest of smiles. At length, Ainsley stared at Josephine wishing he was simply looking through a doll maker's window and not at the corpse of a dead twelve year old girl.

School never prepared him for dealing with dead children. He doubted he would ever get used to it. That day she was slightly more blue, the lids of her eyes and curves of her lips especially. She had been laid out for four days, he suspected. The family would be grateful that she be interned that day. Any more delay and he figured she would hardly be presentable.

He circled the coffin, stepping closer to her head. With his hand clasped behind his back, he studied her face, neck and any visible part of her that would tell him anything about her demise. He wanted desperately to perform an autopsy. That was the only way to know for sure. It bothered him that Mrs. Lloyd would not allow it.

Daringly, he leaned in closer to the body. Any fears or apprehension he felt about his task had vanished. He was not a man, but a doctor using the evidence and not emotion to determine the cause of death.

He lifted her hands, separating the fingers as he examined her. Her left hand and arm were clear of any marks but on the right arm he found a small scratch and slight bruising on her wrist. He turned the limp hand over and moved out of the light so he could see it better. It was faint, but visible. He studied it for a while before determining the mark could have been made prior to death, though he was not entirely certain.

He moved to her head then, the only other part of her body he could easily access. Regrettably, her mouth was sewn shut preventing him from looking inside. He regarded the appearance of her skin around her neck and ears. There was a smell he recognized for a brief moment. The smell came to his awareness and was gone. He leaned closer, nearly putting his face to the girl's lips before he recognized what he was sensing, a hint of garlic.

"Is something wrong?"

Ainsley jumped, startled by the sudden sound. He whirled around and saw Elizabeth standing at the doorway to the parlour. "No," he said, glancing back to the body nervously. "Just admiring... admiring the work of the undertaker," he lied while trying to mask his fright.

"A man of science would appreciate such details," Elizabeth answered plainly without missing a beat. Ainsley could tell she was well versed at playing hostess. She would laugh at all the right places, smile demurely and offer flattering comments whenever she could fit them in to the conversation.

She looked tired though. She was the first family member he had seen that morning. Outside it remained dark, with dawn breaking beyond the trees. The house was quiet, save for the servants who allowed Ainsley in. He had not expected any of the family members to be up at such an early hour. Despite her obvious fatigue, she stood still, taking her place close enough to hold conversation yet far enough not to give the impression of familiarity. She must have scored high marks at finishing school, Ainsley guessed, seeing how calm she was in spite of the tragedy that embraced her family.

"Forgive me," Ainsley spoke quickly, realizing he was staring, "Such a tragic loss. I can only imagine your family's grief."

"Yes, I agree. You can only imagine."

Ainsley glanced over the room and saw the large piano and its prominent place in the parlour. "There's a musician in the family?"

Elizabeth glanced towards the instrument but she clearly had no attachment to it herself. "My sister, Lillian is the pianist. Not I." Her tone was level, a trait that unnerved him. Either she was a great actress, able to shield her grief from the outside world, or she was hardly affected at all by the death of her sister. He remembered Bennett's remarks about Mr. Lloyd's death and the how the women shared a look of knowing.

"My colleague, Dr. Bennett says she declined rather rapidly," Ainsley ventured. He figured she already despised him greatly. What would a few carefully chosen questions hurt?

"Do you define seven hours of agony as a rapid decline?"

"When did you send for a doctor?" Ainsley asked.

"Mother did not wish to send for the doctor straight away. She had us wait. Walter rode for Miss Dawson but by then it was too late. There was nothing she could do for her." Elizabeth glanced beyond Ainsley but decided to take a seat closer to the door. "We tried to make her comfortable."

"Dr. Bennett was not available?" Ainsley followed her lead and took a seat not too far away.

Elizabeth pressed her lips together tightly before speaking. "Mother no longer trusts him. He had been giving Lily tonics but they had not made any difference. We sent for Miss Dawson too late."

Ainsley nodded. "Your sister--" he began but was quickly cut off when the maid from the night before entered the room with a tray of tea. Elizabeth was startled by the girl's sudden appearance and quickly stood up. "Place them here, Mary," she said. "I told Cook to bring you some scones and tea," Elizabeth said to Ainsley. She gestured for the tray which Mary placed on the side table. She was quite scrawny looking, almost too skinny to be able to maneuver such a weighted tray filled with plates of pastries, a tea pot, cream, sugar, honey pot and related china cups and saucers. Her dress hung loose from her extremely slender form and her sleeves were rolled up at the wrists. Her hair was pulled back in a neat bun, except for one tendril which rebelled and slid forward into her face as she bent to pour the tea. She avoided looking at Elizabeth and Ainsley the entire time she was in the room.

"Thank you Mary," Elizabeth said coolly. "Be sure to prepare a tray for Lillian."

Mary gave a slight curtsey and left quickly. Ainsley found himself watching her as she left, wondering if the waif was any older than Josephine.

"One of our newest girls," Elizabeth said, seeing Ainsley's interest. "She is still learning. Mother thinks it is our duty to take on inexperienced help to train them. She says sometimes experienced help come with their own independent ideas."

Ainsley brought his gaze back to Elizabeth who had returned to her straight backed, calm composure. She held an air of a woman completely in charge and, perhaps, she regarded him as yet another person beneath her who needed education and training to be admitted into her world.

"I must check on my sister now. She remains quite ill." She stood to leave and Ainsley rose.

"How does she fare?" he called, as Elizabeth turned away. She stopped at the door, looking over her shoulder. Elizabeth did not answer immediately. "We thought she was on the mend. Now, we are not so sure."

"May I see her?"

Elizabeth's eyes grew wide at the notion. "Mother said I am to not let you venture out of this room. She does not trust you either."

"The feeling is mutual then for I do not trust her." Ainsley said plainly looking at Elizabeth.

She looked aghast, "You cannot mean that!"

Ainsley raised an eyebrow. "Two people have died in this house in recent weeks and I am being denied the opportunity to save a third. You will allow me to treat Miss Lillian or you will find a magistrate on your doorstep by dinner time."